She's Got Dibs (2 page)

“ ‘Because You Loved Me.’ ”

“Why can’t I remember that?”

“Just get to the hotel and call me.”

Tessa flipped her phone shut, shaking her head as she tossed it into her briefcase.

“Dibs.” He extended his hand.

Frowning, she accepted his greeting. “Dibs on what?

“No.” He chuckled. “That’s my name. Or well, actually, my nickname. Either way, it’s what everyone calls me.”

“O-o-okay…” The guy definitely had the smolder covered…and those incredible ice-blue eyes.
Yikes!

“And you are?”

“Oh, Tessa Adams.” She laughed.

“And everyone calls you…?”

Her frown returned. “Tessa.”

“Oh.” He scanned her face. “No nickname, huh?”

“Not that I recall at the moment.”

He pressed his full lips together as if restraining a smile, eyes twinkling with merriment, and handed her the notepad. “Here’s your confirmation number. The room’s at the Waldorf Towers over on Park.”

Two suites at the
Waldorf
? In this mess? What was he, a wizard? “Wow, great. Thanks so much for the help.”

“Glad to be of service.” He retrieved his briefcase and started down the corridor, abruptly stopped and peered at her over the perfect slant of his shoulder. “And don’t worry, Tessa, I’ll think of a good nickname for you.”

She offered him a blank stare. “Hey, knock yourself out.”

Mischief danced along his lips before a grin broke free and he continued down the hallway.

“What a whack job,” she muttered.

Hitching her purse and briefcase onto her shoulder, she started away from the gate in the same direction, wading through the milling throng toward the exit.

Her wisest choice would probably be to stop for a few personal items, and maybe something else to wear since she was now spending the night in New York. Sleeping in her silk pants suit would never work, and the thought of forging ahead without a toothbrush made her grimace.

Navigating the corridor, she occasionally tiptoed to see over everyone’s heads, and then veered left toward a small boutique nestled in a corner between a shoe shine place and a store selling sundries and magazines. She jostled through the oncoming foot traffic and entered.

Orange velour, purple velour, green velour…who wears this stuff?
She picked up one of the lounge suits.
Elvis meets Richard Simmons…oh, and look at the pretty gold lamé epaulets
.

She shuddered and hung the lounge suit on the rack, approached another display and paged through the sweatshirts.
Ugly, ugly, ugly…

Movement caught the corner of her eye and she leaned away from the clothes, her line of sight inching past a metal stand of women’s discount shoes. Dibs stood near the back of the store, flipping through a rack of men’s shirts. She skimmed the length of his arm, the hint of muscle pulling his jacket sleeve taut around his biceps. He selected a loud, plaid button-down shirt, grimaced, and quickly replaced it. A quiet laugh tickled the back of her throat and she lowered her chin.

He glanced over, did a double-take, and zeroed in on her across the floor. He picked up the plaid shirt and held it in front of his chest. His eyebrows rose.

She winced. “No,” she mouthed. But he thought
his
choices were bad?

She unhooked a sweatshirt the shade of pink bubble gum and swept a graceful hand down the embroidered daisies and butterflies like a game show hostess. He squeezed his eyes shut, scrunching up his nose. Chuckling along with him, she returned the sweatshirt to the rack.

She moved to another section of the store and furtively peeked in his direction when she located a yellow cable-knit sweater with a faux tiger-fur collar. She smiled slyly and grabbed the hanger, swiveling in time to find Dibs holding a lime-green hoodie, measuring the sleeve down the length of his arm. His chin came up, and his contagious laughter echoed across the floor over the apparent horror on her face.

She put her palm up. “What?”

He widened his eyes. “I know.”

Across the store a folded stack of powder blue sleeping shirts rested on one of the built-in shelves. She closed the distance, shook out the first and pressed the garment along the length of her suit. Two fluffy orange kittens peered up at her, a ball of yarn and a toy mouse all silk-screened on the front.

Dibs cleared his throat, but the periwinkle-blue negligee and bathrobe set dangling from his index finger hid his face from view. Floor-length and classic in design, the pieces shimmered under the lights as if they were silk.

He peeked around the hanger.

A playful glint sparkled in his eyes and she shifted her focus back to the negligee. It would be an outright travesty to pass on such a beautiful nightgown. But a complete stranger choosing her lingerie? Yeah, not so much. Mulling over her choices, she reconsidered the kitten nightshirt and chewed the inside of her cheek. Her eyes returned to the negligee.

Dibs shook his head, bobbing the hanger. “This one,” he mouthed.

Oh hell…
She folded the nightshirt and tossed it back onto the shelf. Elevating a shrewd eyebrow, she dipped her chin in curt agreement. He grinned and draped the negligee over his arm.

And since turnabout was fair play…She ambled toward a low table hidden under a mountain of men’s bathrobes, trailed her fingertips over the material, and tugged one from the pile that was midnight blue, fluffy, and soft.

In return, Dibs presented an orange velour lounge suit, sweeping the legs up across the inside of his forearm. She scowled, sticking out her tongue. He laughed and hooked the lounge suit on the bar.

She pinched the shoulders of the bathrobe in her fingertips. His head tilted and he paused a moment before nodding. Biting her lip against a smile, she folded the robe over her arm.

He approached a table of women’s sweaters and began sorting through them…which was just fine. But if he ventured anywhere near the women’s frilly underthings she was out of there. She brushed past him to the back of the store and hunted through a rack of men’s shirts, sizing him up over her shoulder.

He lifted a long-sleeved cream cashmere sweater and tilted it back and forth. Tapping her foot, she ran the tip of her tongue along the edge of her teeth, and then nodded. Acknowledging her approval with a grin, he added the sweater to the negligee.

The blue pinstriped shirt she found—starched white collar and cuffs—seemed up to snuff, and she flipped it over her shoulder in his direction. He squinted, poking his elbows out to the sides. She skimmed the width of his chest, shook her head, and selected the next larger size, flipping the hanger over her shoulder a second time. Dibs affirmed her choice with a nod.

She pivoted on her toe to fully face him. He jerked his head toward the register.

“Here.” She smiled when they met near the counter. “I’ll trade you.”

“No way.” He shifted away from her.

Wait…
That
suggestion wasn’t even in the realm of appropriate. “You’re buying my clothes.”

“I’m buying these things I picked out.”

She shrugged. “Okay, fine. Then I’m buying the things I picked out.” She swung the robe and shirt onto the counter. “Good luck fitting into that negligee,” she muttered.

“Oh, no, I’m giving them to you. I’m just paying for them first.”

She guardedly studied his eyes. Too bad he was
such
a whack job…

“As a gift.” He smiled pleasantly.

“So…we’re exchanging gifts now?”

“Sure, why not?” He leaned an elbow on the counter, close enough her arm brushed the lapels of his suit coat.

“All right, we can exchange gifts if you want to. Just don’t expect anything for Christmas or your birthday.” She signed the credit card receipt and stepped to the side.

He pushed up from the counter and the woman behind the register froze. “Uh-h-h…” She blinked at him over the top of her half glasses. “Did you find everything all right, sir?”

He faced Tessa, deadpan. “Did we find everything all right?”

Widening her eyes, she rolled her lips together to stifle a laugh.

“Yes, it was fine.” Chuckling, he pulled a thick gold money clip from his pocket and slipped two one-hundred-dollar bills off the roll.

Aha! He was an international jewel thief…or maybe some sort of Wall Street guru.

The woman’s cheeks flushed when she handed Dibs his change. “Thank you, sir. Have a nice day.”

Hmmm…
Tessa wrinkled her brow as they walked together toward the exit. “Why is it, do you suppose, she didn’t ask me if I found everything all right?”

“It’s my dashing good looks.” He scrubbed a hand across that dangerous chin of his.

She scowled. “Well, it certainly isn’t your stellar personality.”

“Hah! I like you. You’re funny.”

“You sure it isn’t just my dashing good looks?”

He shrugged. “Well, there’s that too.”

Okay, smarty pants.
She pointed toward the sundries shop next door, tipping her head to indicate the woman behind the register as they entered. “Here, let’s test your theory.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

A quick shuffle through the travel size deodorants and toothpaste and she rejoined Dibs—carrying his personal items—and together they approached the counter.

“Hi.” Tessa placed her purchases beside the register, smiling brightly.

“Hello.” The woman snapped her gum as she scanned the items.

“How are you today?” Tessa asked. Dibs’s low chuckle rumbled behind her. She tossed her elbow back and caught him in the ribs. He sputtered, and then laughed again while she maintained the false pleasantries. “Nice weather we’re having, huh?”

The woman grunted, dropped Tessa’s purchases in a plastic bag and slid it across the counter. “That’ll be $34.78.”

As she handed Tessa her change, the woman glanced at Dibs. She whipped her chin in his direction. “Hi, there.” Her terse demeanor instantly evaporated.

“How are you?” He set his items on the counter.

“I’m just fine, thanks. How are you?” The cashier stared at him a moment longer before ringing up his purchases. She returned her gaze to him as often as possible.

“I’m fine.” He cocked an eyebrow at Tessa.

She squinted and bobbled her head.

“Did you find everything you needed?” The woman slowly placed his items in a plastic bag.

Tessa groaned and left the register, waiting for him at the store entrance.

“It’s a curse.” The sober set of his lips didn’t hide the humor dancing in his beautiful steel-blue eyes.

She feigned a gag of disgust. “Unfortunately, you’re still a whack job.”

“Come on.” A knee-weakening grin lit his entire face as he placed his hand on her back. “Let’s share a cab.”

Chapter Two

As the taxi eased to a stop in front of the hotel, Tessa cringed. A mob choked the sidewalk—guests waiting for a cab or searching for a bellman to assist them with their luggage.

Dibs offered her a hand out of the backseat. His palm warmed her back as he escorted her to the revolving doors of the hotel. As many people stood inside the large, marble-floored lobby as were outside. Most waited in line at the front desk, but some were enjoying a drink, reclined on the gold tapestry couches set before the fireplace or standing near the gold embossed elevator bank.

Dibs trailed her through the crowd and they joined the queue to check in.

“So, Tessa from Chicago, what is it that you do?”

There was probably no harm. Not like they ran in the same circles or anything. “Event planner.”

“Really? That sounds like a fun job.”

“It has its moments.” She glanced at him. “And what is it that you do, Dibs with the nickname?”

“Philanthropist.” They shuffled forward together.

“Billionaire tycoon, huh?”

“Something like that.”

Yep, she’d nailed it. The man was like a walking, talking billboard from Times Square, advertising a fantastical combination of wealth and masculinity. But billions? “You’re not serious.”

“I think we should make an agreement right now to always tell each other the truth.” He slid a hand into his pants pocket.

“Really? I was sorta hoping we would tell each other nothing but lies.”

He smirked, keeping pace at her side. “Honestly, I don’t think people tell enough of the truth.”

She tipped her head. “I don’t think we can help it, actually. It’s in our very nature to lie.”

“The question is why. What’s that saying…if you always tell the truth…”

“You don’t need a good memory.”

“See?” Satisfaction softened the crease between his brows. “I knew I liked you.”

She huffed and approached the check-in desk. The young blonde woman behind the computer appeared harried and worn, her maroon ascot sitting slightly off-center around her neck.

“Hi.” Tessa dropped her bags near her feet. “I have a reservation.”

“The confirmation number, please?”

She tugged the notepad from her briefcase and the woman clicked some numbers on her keyboard. Tessa worked her credit card from her wallet, lightly tapped the edge against the high marble countertop.

“I’m sorry.” The desk clerk pointed to the pad. “What’s this number?”

“I think that’s a three, or maybe it’s a five.” Keeping her finger on the number, Tessa waved Dibs forward. “What is this?”

When he stepped to the counter, the woman gasped and tossed her shoulders back. “Mr. Brenner! I didn’t know you were staying with us today.” She spun to her computer, fingers flying over the keys. She paled. “I’m sorry, sir, but the Presidential Suite has already been booked.”

“That’s all right,” he spoke quietly. “I have another reservation.”

The woman pecked the keyboard and her eyes grew to the size of headlights. “We only have you in a one-bedroom suite, Mr. Brenner.”

“It’s all right.” He placed his hand on the counter. “I called last minute. My flight was cancelled.”